


The Psychology of Distraction

by BelladonnaLee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaLee/pseuds/BelladonnaLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco does not like summer, but Harry in an apron might change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Psychology of Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

Summer insects were chirping away in the garden, rejoicing in the glorious heat that ensured their survival. High above was a stretch of endless blue that did nothing to block the setting sun. The humid air was meant for choking in, not breathing. For a man who disliked summer, a day like this was sheer torture.

Fanning himself with the document he was supposed to read, Draco walked past his neighbours' lawns and tried to dissuade himself from cursing at the weather and the weatherman. When his house was at last in sight, he felt his spirit somewhat revived. Juggling a box of cakes, a briefcase, a blazer and a file folder, he opened the door and went inside.

The cooling charm must have gone wonky again, for the temperature inside the house was a mere degree cooler than outside. All the windows were open, but the occasional light breeze brought in more hot air and no relief. After dumping his burden onto the sofa, Draco pulled off his tie and took the box of cakes to the kitchen.

Draco blinked. The sight of Harry slicing up vegetables at the island was a common scene, at least in this particular household. However, the heat appeared to have melted Draco's brain, for he was certain Harry was wearing an apron and nothing else.

"Are you wearing anything underneath that?" Draco tilted his chin at Harry's attire, which was best left to the imagination in private -- his imagination only, that is.

Looking up, Harry flashed him a grin. "Sorry to disappoint you. I have my jeans on."

Amused, Draco looked up and down at his companion in deliberate appraisal. Even to his critical eye, it was more than a pleasant sight: dark green fabric wrapped around a lean and sinewy body built for agility. At the back of his mind, however, he wondered about the merit of cooking while topless. Visual appeal aside, he could not decide whether Harry was being cute or silly or both.

"Are you wearing anything _underneath those jeans_?" he drawled in his best imitation of a bored aristocrat.

The curve on Harry's lips became ever so wry. "I'll leave it to your imagination." With a wave of the wand, he let the knife do the rest of the work for him.

As tempting a prospect as it might sound, Draco decided main course would have to wait. The cake box went into the icebox. Draco rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands at the sink. "What's for dinner?"

"Tomato-and-bread salad, prosciutto with figs, spaghetti with stewed mussels and clams." Harry moved over to the stove to check on the mussels and clams. After stirring for a while, he scooped up a dribble of sauce with a spatula and held it out for Draco to sample. "I was going to make breaded cutlets, but I don't fancy frying anything in this heat."

"Nice," Draco commented, his attention called away by the view of Harry's naked back and those jeans that hung a little low over the hip. With some effort he pulled his mind out of the gutter. "I bought tiramisu for dessert. The mussels could use a little white wine though. Anything else?"

Aware of the stare he was getting from his lover, Harry raised an eyebrow and eyed the pile of vegetables on the chopping board. "You can start with the salad."

"As you wish, my Lord." Throwing a smirk at Harry, Draco went to the island and tossed everything into the bowl, topped with olive oil and vinegar. Domestic bliss was not what he had in mind when he moved in with Harry, and to his surprise, he rather enjoyed it -- as long as he could get away with skipping on the chore once in a while. "So? How's your day at home?"

"Uneventful. I did a little cleaning, a little reading and a lot of procrastinating." The spaghetti was drained of water and tossed into the pan. Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco. "Anything interesting at the office?"

"Reciting the Theories of Magic would've been more exciting. No one wants to do anything in this heat." Once the salad was made to his satisfaction, Draco decided he was done playing nice. Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, he went over to Harry and wrapped his arms around him. "You are the only excitement in my life."

Harry chuckled and continued his cooking. A straying hand had slipped beneath his apron, but he ignored the distraction for now. "Sheer tragedy, Mr Malfoy. Has the heat gotten to you?"

"That depends on what kind of heat you are talking about." Resting his chin on Harry's shoulder, Draco ran his hand over Harry's heart before sliding lower to feel the hair beneath the navel tickle his palm. "Are you going to dress like this for dinner, Mr Potter?"

"Dessert won't be on till after dinner." Once the stove was turned off, Harry twisted his body around until he was gazing into Draco's eyes. A mischievous smile playing about his lips, he whispered, "Hello." With that he shut the blond up using the most basic technique known to mankind -- not that Draco put up much of a fight.

Dinner was eaten, and dessert was served in the living room. Reclining on the sofa afterwards, Harry, tired yet fulfilled, stared at the ceiling with a dazed look on his face. It was not often that they moved the action into the living room, but the bedroom upstairs was too stuffy for the purpose they had intended. It did feel strange lying naked on the sofa; his shirt usually stayed on to the end, albeit arranged in a certain artistic way -- by a certain self-proclaimed connoisseur -- that covered up practically nothing.

Draco, on the other hand, was happier than he had been during the day. The temperature had dipped a little as the evening rolled on, and he was home with his beloved. Still, the humidity was a nuisance. After placing a kiss on Harry's calf, he let out a sigh. "We need to fix the cooling charm."

Green eyes squinted at him for a beat or two before Harry nudged Draco with his foot. "I've already tried, but nothing works. You can have a go at it."

"So says the wizard who defeated the Dark Lord," Draco remarked in half-jest while massaging Harry's thigh. When Harry glared at him and poked him at the rib, he coughed. "I'll check it later. You have work tomorrow, don't you? Go take a shower. I'll handle the rest."

His lips curved into a playful smile, Harry said, "Including the dishes?"

Whenever Harry put on that smile of his, there was nothing Draco could do but concede in defeat. To be fair, his lover did all the cooking tonight. Heaving another sigh, Draco grinned a lopsided grin and said, "Aye, the dishes too."

* * * * * * *

_Finis._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you very much for reading. This piece was written on a hot summer day, with heatwave, apron and cooking as themes. In truth, it's just an excuse to make Harry cook in an apron, and to have Draco help out a little, though Draco proved to be more of a distraction instead.


End file.
